Part 31 (1/2)
”Sure thing! Last night I insulted a perfectly nice gentleman just to provoke a quarrel. I'd never seen him before, and ordinarily I hesitate to accost strangers; but I felt as if I'd have hysterics if I couldn't lick somebody; so I walked up to this person and told him his necktie was in rotten taste.”
”What did he say?”
”He offered to go home and change it. I was so chagrined that I-- cursed him fearfully.”
”Bernie!”
Dreux nodded with an expression of the keenest satisfaction. ”I could have cried. I called him a worm, a bug, a boll-weevil; but he said he had a family and didn't intend to be shot up by some well-dressed desperado.”
”I suppose it's the blood of your ancestors.”
”I suppose it is. Now let's go get this dago boy. I'm loaded for grizzlies, and if the Mafia cuts in I'll croak somebody.” He drew a huge rusty military revolver from somewhere inside his clothes and flourished it so recklessly that his companion recoiled.
Together the two set out for St. Phillip Street. Blake, whose reputation for bravery had become proverbial, went reluctantly, preyed upon by misgivings; Dreux, the decadent, overbred dandy, went gladly, as if thirsting for the fray.
XIV
THE NET TIGHTENS
Number 93 1/2 St. Phillip Street proved to be a hovel, in the front portion of which an old woman sold charcoal and kindling. Leaving Bernie on guard, Blake penetrated swiftly to the rooms behind, paying no heed to the crone's protestations. In one corner a slender, dark-eyed boy was cowering, whom he recognized at once as the lad he had seen on the night of Donnelly's death.
”You are Gino Cressi,” he said, quietly.
The boy shook his head.
”Oh, yes, you are, and you must come with me, Gino.”
The little fellow recoiled. ”You have come to kill me,” he quavered.
”No, no, my little man. Why should I wish to do that?”
”I am a Sicilian; you hate me.”
”That is not true. We hate only bad Sicilians, and you are a good boy.”
”I did not kill the Chief.”
”True. You did not even know that those other men intended to kill him. You were merely told to wait at the corner until you saw him come home. Am I right?”
”I do not know anything about the Chief,” Gino mumbled.
But it was plain that some of his fear was vanis.h.i.+ng under this unexpected kindness. Blake had a voice which won dumb animals, and a smile which made friends of children. At last the young Sicilian came forward and put his hand into the stranger's.
”They told me to hide or the Americans would kill me. Madonna mia! I am no Mafioso! I--I wish to see my father.”
”I will take you to him now.”
”You will not harm me?”